Narrative of Henry Box Brown

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Title:Narrative of Henry Box Brown

Who Escaped from Slavery Enclosed in a Box 3 Feet Long and 2 Wide

Author: Henry Box Brown

Contributor: Charles Stearns

Release Date: April 05, 2021 [eBook #64992]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

Produced by: Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was

produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NARRATIVE OF HENRY BOX BROWN ***

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N A R R A T I V E

OF

HENRY BOX BROWN,

WHO ESCAPED FROM SLAVERY

ENCLOSED IN A BOX 3 FEET LONG AND 2 WIDE.

WRITTEN FROM A

STATEMENT OF FACTS MADE BY HIMSELF.

WITH REMARKS UPON THE REMEDY FOR SLAVERY.

BY CHARLES STEARNS.

BOSTON:

PUBLISHED BY BROWN & STEARNS.

FOR SALE BY BELA MARSH, 25 CORNHILL.

ABNER FORBES, PRINTER, 37 Cornhill.

PREFACE.

Not for the purpose of administering to a prurient desire to “hear and see some new thing,” nor to gratify any inclination on the

part of the hero of the following story to be honored by man, is this simple and touching narrative of the perils of a seeker after the
“boon of liberty,” introduced to the public eye; but that the people of this country may be made acquainted with the horrid sufferings
endured by one as, in a portable prison, shut out from the light of heaven, and nearly deprived of its balmy air, he pursued his fearful
journey directly through the heart of a country making its boasts of liberty and freedom to all, and that thereby a chord of human
sympathy may be touched in the hearts of those who listen to his plaintive tale, which may be the means of furthering the spread of
those principles, which under God, shall yet prove “mighty to the pulling down of the strong-holds” of slavery.

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O reader, as you peruse this heart-rending tale, let the tear of sympathy roll freely from your eyes, and let the deep fountains of

human feeling, which God has implanted in the breast of every son and daughter of Adam, burst forth from their enclosure, until a
stream shall flow therefrom on to the surrounding world, of so invigorating and purifying a nature, as to arouse from the “death of the
sin” of slavery, and cleanse from the pollutions thereof, all with whom you may be connected. As Henry Box Brown’s thrilling escape
is portrayed before you, let it not be perused by you as an idle tale, while you go away “forgetting what manner of persons you are;”
but let truth find an avenue through your sensibilities, by which it can reach the citadel of your soul, and there dwell in all its life-giving
power, expelling the whole brotherhood of pro-slavery errors, which politicians, priests, and selfish avarice, have introduced to the
acquaintance of your intellectual faculties. These faculties are oftener blinded by selfishness, than are imbecile of themselves, as the
powerful intellect of a Webster is led captive to the inclinations of a not unselfish heart; so that that which should be the ruling power of
every man’s nature, is held in degrading submission to the inferior feelings of his heart. If man is blinded to the appreciation of the good,
by a mass of selfish sensibilities, may he not be induced to surrender his will to the influence of truth, by benevolent feelings being
caused to spring forth in his heart? That this may be the case with all whose eyes gaze upon the picture here drawn of misery, and of
endurance, worthy of a Spartan, and such as a hero of olden times might be proud of, and transmit to posterity, along with the armorial
emblazonry of his ancestors, is the ardent desire of all connected with the publication of this work. A word in regard to the literary
character of the tale before you. The narrator is freshly from a land where books and schools are forbidden under severe penalties, to
all in his former condition, and of course knoweth not letters, having never learned them; but of his capabilities otherwise, no one can
doubt, when they recollect that if the records of all nations, from the time when Adam and Eve first placed their free feet upon the soil
of Eden, until the conclusion of the scenes depicted by Hildreth and Macaulay, should be diligently searched, a parallel instance of
heroism, in behalf of personal liberty, could not be found. Instances of fortitude for the defence of religious freedom, and in cases of a
violation of conscience being required; and for the sake of offspring, of friends and of one’s country are not uncommon; but whose
heroism and ability to contrive, united, have equalled our friend’s whose story is now before you?[1]

A William and an Ellen Craft, indeed performed an almost equally hazardous undertaking, and one which, as a devoted admirer

of human daring has said, far exceeded any thing recorded by Macaulay, and will yet be made the ground-work for a future Scott to
build a more intensely interesting tale upon than “the author of Waverly” ever put forth, but they had the benefit of their eyes and ears
—they were not entirely helpless; enclosed in a moving tomb, and as utterly destitute of power to control your movements as if death
had fastened its icy arm upon you, and yet possessing all the full tide of gushing sensibilities, and a complete knowledge of your
existence, as was the case with our friend. We read with horror of the burial of persons before life has entirely fled from them, but here
is a man who voluntarily assumed a condition in which he well knew all the chances were against him, and when his head seemed well-
nigh severed from his body, on account of the concussion occasioned by the rough handling to which he was subject, see the Spartan
firmness of his soul. Not a groan escaped from his agonized heart, as the realities of his condition were so vividly presented before him.
Death stared him in the face, but like Patrick Henry, only when the alternative was more a matter of fact than it was to that patriot, he
exclaims, “Give me liberty or give me death;” and death seemed to say, as quickly as the lion seizes the kid cast into its den, “You are
already mine,” and was about to wrap its sable mantle around the form of our self-martyred hero—bound fast upon the altars of
freedom, as the Hindoo widow is bound upon the altar of a husband’s love; when the bright angel of liberty, whose dazzling form he
had so long and so anxiously watched, as he pored over the scheme hid in the recesses of his own fearless brain, while yet a slave, and
whose shining eyes had bewitched his soul, until he had said in the language of one of old to Jesus, “I will follow thee whithersoever
thou goest;” when this blessed goddess stood at his side, and, as Jesus said to one lying cold in death’s embrace, “I say unto thee,
arise,” said to him, as she took him by the hand and lifted him from his travelling tomb, “thy warfare is over, thy work is accomplished,
a free man art thou, my guidance has availed thee, arise and breathe the air of freedom.”

Did Lazarus astonish his weeping sisters, and the surrounding multitude, as he emerged from his house of clay, clad in the

habiliments of the grave, and did joy unfeigned spread throughout that gazing throng? How much more astonishing seemed the birth of
Mr. Brown, as he “came forth” from a box, clothed not in the habiliments of the grave, but in those of slavery, worse than the “silent
house of death,” as his acts had testified; and what greater joy thrilled through the wondering witnesses, as the lid was removed from
the travelling carriage of our friend’s electing, and straightway arose therefrom a living man, a being made in God’s own image, a son
of Jehovah, whom the piety and republicanism of this nation had doomed to pass through this terrible ordeal, before the wand of the
goddess of liberty could complete his transformation from a slave to a free man! But we will desist from further comments. Here is the
plain narrative of our friend, and is it asking too much of you, whose sympathies may be aroused by the recital which follows, to
continue to peruse these pages until the cause of all his sufferings is depicted before you, and your duty under the circumstances is
clearly pointed out?

Here are the identical words uttered by him as soon as he inhaled the fresh air of freedom, after the faintness occasioned by his

sojourn in his temporary tomb had passed away.

HYMN OF THANKSGIVING,

SUNG BY HENRY BOX BROWN,

After being released from his confinement in the Box, at Philadelphia.

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I waited patiently, I waited patiently for the Lord, for the Lord,
And he inclined unto me, and heard my calling;
I waited patiently, I waited patiently for the Lord,
And he inclined unto me, and heard my calling;
And he hath put a new song in my mouth,
Ev’n a thanksgiving, Ev’n a thanksgiving, Ev’n a thanksgiving unto our God.

Blessed, Blessed, Blessed, Blessed is the man, Blessed is the man,
Blessed is the man that hath set his hope, his hope in the Lord;
O Lord my God, Great, Great, Great,
Great are the wondrous works which thou hast done,
Great are the wondrous works which thou hast done, which thou hast done,
Great are the wondrous works,
Great are the wondrous works,
Great are the wondrous works, which thou hast done.

If I should declare them and speak of them, they should be more,

more, more than I am able to express.

I have not kept back thy loving kindness and truth from the great congregation,
I have not kept back thy loving kindness and truth from the great congregation.

Withdraw not thou thy mercy from me,
Withdraw not thou thy mercy from me, O Lord;
Let thy loving kindness and thy truth always preserve me,
Let all those that seek thee be joyful and glad,
Let all those that seek thee, be joyful and glad, be joyful, be glad, be joyful and glad,

be joyful, be joyful, be joyful, be joyful, be joyful and glad, be glad in thee.

And let such as love thy salvation,
And let such as love thy salvation, say always,
The Lord be praised,
The Lord be praised:
Let all those that seek thee be joyful and glad,
And let such as love thy salvation, say always,
The Lord be praised,
The Lord be praised,
The Lord be praised.

Boston, Sept. 1, 1849.

NARRATIVE.

I am not about to harrow the feelings of my readers by a terrific representation of the untold horrors of that fearful system of

oppression, which for thirty-three long years entwined its snaky folds about my soul, as the serpent of South America coils itself
around the form of its unfortunate victim. It is not my purpose to descend deeply into the dark and noisome caverns of the hell of
slavery, and drag from their frightful abode those lost spirits who haunt the souls of the poor slaves, daily and nightly with their frightful
presence, and with the fearful sound of their terrific instruments of torture; for other pens far abler than mine have effectually performed
that portion of the labor of an exposer of the enormities of slavery. Slavery, like the shield discovered by the knights of olden time, has
two diverse sides to it; the one, on which is fearfully written in letters of blood, the character of the mass who carry on that dreadful
system of unhallowed bondage; the other, touched with the pencil of a gentler delineator, and telling the looker on, a tale of
comparative freedom, from the terrible deprivations so vividly portrayed on its opposite side.

My book will present, if possible, the beautiful side of the picture of slavery; will entertain you with stories of partial kindness on

the part of my master, and of comparative enjoyment on my own part, as I grew up under the benign influence of the blessed system
so closely connected with our “republican institutions,” as Southern politicians tell us.

From the time I first breathed the air of human existence, until the hour of my escape from bondage, I did not receive but one

whipping. I never suffered from lack of food, or on account of too extreme labor; nor for want of sufficient clothing to cover my
person. My tale is not, therefore, one of horrid inflictions of the lash upon my naked body; of cruel starvings and of insolent treatment;
but is the very best representation of slavery which can be given; therefore, reader, allow me to inform you, as you, for aught I know,
may be one of those degraded mortals who fancy that if no blows are inflicted upon the slave’s body, and a plenty of “bread and
bacon” is dealed out to him, he is therefore no sufferer, and slavery is not a cruel institution; allow me to inform you, that I did not
escape from such deprivations. It was not for fear of the lash’s dreaded infliction, that I endured that fearful imprisonment, which you
are waiting to read concerning; nor because of destitution of the necessaries of life, did I enclose myself in my travelling prison, and
traverse your boasted land of freedom, a portion of the time with my head in an inverted position, as if it were a terrible crime for me to
endeavor to escape from slavery.

Far beyond, in terrible suffering, all outward cruelties of the foul system, are those inner pangs which rend the heart of fond

affection, when the “bone of your bone, and the flesh of your flesh” is separated from your embrace, by the ruthless hand of the
merciless tyrant, as he plucks from your heart of love, the one whom God hath given you for a “help-meet” through the journey of life;
and more fearful by far than all the blows of the bloody lash, or the pangs of cruel hunger are those lashings of the heart, which the
best of slaveholders inflict upon their happy and “well off” slaves, as they tear from their grasp the pledges of love, smiling at the side of

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devoted attachment. Tell me not of kind masters under slavery’s hateful rule! There is no such thing as a person of that description; for,
as you will see, my master, one of the most distinguished of this uncommon class of slaveholders, hesitated not to allow the wife of my
love to be torn from my fond embrace, and the darling idols of my heart, my little children, to be snatched from my arms, and thus to
doom them to a separation from me, more dreadful to all of us than a large number of lashes, inflicted on us daily. And yet to this fate I
was continually subject, during a large portion of the time, when heaven seemed to smile propitiously above me; and no black clouds
of fearful character lowered over my head. Heaven save me from kind masters, as well as from those called more cruel; for even their
“tender mercies are cruel,” and what no freeman could endure for a moment. My tale necessarily lacks that thrilling interest which is
attached to the more than romantic, although perfectly true descriptions of a life in slavery, given by my numerous forerunners in the
work of sketching a slave’s personal experience; but I shall endeavor to intermingle with it other scenes which came under my own
observation, which will serve to convince you, that if I was spared a worse fate than actually fell to my lot, yet my comrades around me
were not so fortunate; but were the victims of the ungovernable rage of those men, of whose characters one cannot be informed,
without experiencing within his soul, a rushing of overflowing emotions of pity, indignation and horror.

I first drew the breath of life in Louisa County, Va., forty-five miles from the city of Richmond, in the year 1816. I was born a

slave. Not because at the moment of my birth an angel stood by, and declared that such was the will of God concerning me; although
in a country whose most honored writings declare that all men have a right to liberty, given them by their Creator, it seems strange that
I, or any of my brethren, could have been born without this inalienable right, unless God had thus signified his departure from his usual
rule, as described by our fathers. Not, I say, on account of God’s willing it to be so, was I born a slave, but for the reason that nearly
all the people of this country are united in legislating against heaven, and have contrived to vote down our heavenly father’s rules, and
to substitute for them, that cruel law which binds the chains of slavery upon one sixth part of the inhabitants of this land. I was born a
slave! and wherefore? Tyrants, remorseless, destitute of religion and principle, stood by the couch of my mother, as heaven placed a
pure soul, in the infantile form, there lying in her arms—a new being, never having breathed earth’s atmosphere before; and fearlessly,
with no compunctions of remorse, stretched forth their bloody arms and pressed the life of God from me, baptizing my soul and body
as their own property; goods and chattels in their hands! Yes, they robbed me of myself, before I could know the nature of their
wicked acts; and for ever afterwards, until I took possession of my own soul and body, did they retain their stolen property. This was
why I was born a slave. Reader, can you understand the horrors of that fearful name? Listen, and I will assist you in this difficult work.
My father, and my mother of course, were slaves before me; but both of them are now enjoying the invaluable boon of liberty, having
purchased themselves, in this land of freedom! At an early age, my mother would take me on her knee, and pointing to the forest trees
adjacent, now being stripped of their thick foliage by autumnal winds, would say to me, “my son, as yonder leaves are stripped from
off the trees of the forest, so are the children of slaves swept away from them by the hands of cruel tyrants;” and her voice would
tremble, and she would seem almost choked with her deep emotions, while the big tears would find their way down her saddened
cheeks, as she fondly pressed me to her heaving bosom, as if to save me from so dreaded a calamity. I was young then, but I well
recollect the sadness of her countenance, and the mournfulness of her words, and they made a deep impression upon my youthful
mind. Mothers of the North, as you gaze upon the free forms of your idolized little ones, as they playfully and confidently move around
you, O if you knew that the lapse of a few years would infallibly remove them from your affectionate care, not to be laid in the silent
grave, “where the wicked cease from troubling,” but to be the sport of cruel men, and the victims of barbarous tyrants, who would
snatch them from your side, as the robber seizes upon the bag of gold in the traveller’s hand; O, would not your life then be rendered a
miserable one indeed? Who can trace the workings of a slave mother’s soul, as she counts over the hours, the departure of which, she
almost knows, will rob her of her darling children, and consign them to a fate more horrible than death’s cold embrace! O, who can
hear of these cruel deprivations, and not be aroused to action in the slave’s behalf?

My mother used to instruct me in the principles of morality, as much as she was able; but I was deplorably ignorant on religious

subjects, for what ideas can a slave have of religion, when those who profess it around him, are demons in human shape oftentimes, as
you will presently see was the case with my master’s overseer? My mother used to tell me not to steal, and not to lie, and to behave
myself properly in other respects. She took a great deal of pains with me and my brother; which resulted in our endeavors to conduct
ourselves with propriety. As a specimen of the religious knowledge of the slaves, I will state here my ideas in regard to my master;
assuring the reader that I am not joking, but stating what was the opinion of all the slave children on my master’s plantation; and I have
often talked it over with my early associates, and my mother, and enjoyed hearty laughs at the absurdity of our youthful ideas.

I really believed my old master was Almighty God, and that his son, my young master, was Jesus Christ.[2]

One reason I had for this belief was, that when it was about to thunder, my old master would approach us, if we were in the yard, and
say, “All you children run into the house now, for it is going to thunder,” and after the shower was over, we would go out again, and he
would approach us smilingly, and say, “What a fine shower we have had,” and bidding us look at the flowers in the garden, would say,
“how pretty the flowers look now.” We thought that he thundered, and caused the rain to fall; and not until I was eight years of age,
did I get rid of this childish superstition. Our master was uncommonly kind, and as he moved about in his dignity, he seemed like a god
to us, and probably he did not dislike our reverential feelings towards him. All the slaves called his son, our Saviour, and the way I was
enlightened on this point was as follows. One day after returning from church, my mother told father of a woman who wished to join
the church. She told the preacher she had been baptized by one of the slaves, who was called from his office, “John the Baptist;” and
on being asked by the minister if she believed “that our Saviour came into the world, and had died for the sins of man,” she replied,
that she “knew he had come into the world,” but she “had not heard he was dead, as she lived so far from the road, she did not learn
much that was going on in the world.” I then asked mother, if young master was dead. She said it was not him they were talking about;
it was “our Saviour in heaven.” I then asked her if there were two Saviours, when she told me that young master was not “our
Saviour,” which filled me with astonishment, and I could not understand it at first. Not long after this, my sister became anxious to have
her soul converted, and shaved the hair from her head, as many of the slaves thought they could not be converted without doing this.
My mother reproved her, and began to tell her of God who dwelt in heaven, and that she must pray to him to convert her. This
surprised me still more, and I asked her if old master was not God; to which she replied that he was not, and began to instruct me a
little in reference to the God of heaven. After this, I believed there was a God who ruled the world, but I did not previously, have the

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least idea of any such being. And why should not my childish fancy be correct, according to the blasphemous teachings of the heathen
system of slavery? Does not every slaveholder assume exclusive control over all the actions of his unfortunate victims? Most assuredly
he does, as this extract from the laws of a slaveholding State will show you. “A slave is one who is in the power of his master, to whom
he belongs. A slave owes to his master and all his family, respect without bounds and absolute obedience.” How tallies this with the
unalterable law of Jehovah, “Thou shalt have no other gods before me?” Does not the system of slavery effectually shut out from the
slave’s heart, all true knowledge of the eternal God, and doom him to grope his perilous way, amid the thick darkness of unenlightened
heathenism, although he dwells in a land professing much religion, and an entire freedom from the superstitions of paganism?

Let me tell you my opinion of the slaveholding religion of this land. I believe in a hell, where the wicked will forever dwell, and

knowing the character of slaveholders and slavery, it is my settled belief, as it was while I was a slave, even though I was treated
kindly, that every slaveholder will infallibly go to that hell, unless he repents. I do not believe in the religion of the Southern churches,
nor do I perceive any great difference between them, and those at the North, which uphold them.

While a young lad, my principal employment was waiting upon my master and mistress, and at intervals taking lessons in what is

the destiny of most of the slaves, the cultivation of the plantation. O how often as the hot sun sent forth its scorching rays upon my
tender head, did I look forward with dismay, to the time, when I, like my fellow slaves, should be driven by the task-master’s cruel
lash, to the performance of unrequited toil upon the plantation of my master. To this expectation is the slave trained. Like the criminal
under sentence of death, he notches upon his wooden stick, as Sterne’s captive did, the days, after the lapse of which he must be
introduced to his dreaded fate; in the case of the criminal, merely death—a cessation from the pains and toils of life; but in our cases,
the commencement of a living death; a death never ending, second in horror only to the eternal torment of the wicked in a future state.
Yea, even worse than that, for there, a God of love and mercy holds the rod of punishment in his own hand; but in our case, it is held
by men from whom almost the last vestige of goodness has departed, and in whose hearts there dwells hardly a spark of humanity,
certainly not enough to keep them from the practice of the most inhuman crimes. Imagine, reader, a fearful cloud, gathering blackness
as it advances towards you, and increasing in size constantly; hovering in the deep blue vault of the firmament above you, which cloud
seems loaded with the elements of destruction, and from the contents of which you are certain you cannot escape. You are sailing upon
the now calm waters of the broad and placid deep, spreading its “unadorned bosom” before you, as far as your eye can reach,

“Calm as a slumbering babe,
Tremendous Ocean lays;”

and on its “burnished waves,” gracefully rides your little vessel, without fear or dismay troubling your heart. But this fearful cloud is
pointed out to you, and as it gathers darkness, and rushes to the point of the firmament overhanging your fated vessel, O what terror
then seizes upon your soul, as hourly you expect your little bark to be deluged by the contents of the cloud, and riven by the fierce
lightnings enclosed in that mass of angry elements. So with the slave, only that he knows his chances of escape are exceedingly small,
while you may very likely outlive the storm.

To this terrible apprehension we are all constantly subject. To-day, master may smile lovingly upon us, and the sound of the

cracking whip may be hushed, but the dread uncertainty of our future fate still hangs over us, and to-morrow may witness a return of all
the elements of fearful strife, as we emphatically “know not what a day may bring forth.” The sweet songsters of the air, as it were,
may warble their musical notes ever so melodiously, harmonizing with the soft-blowing of the western winds which invigorates our
frames, and the genial warmth of the early sun may fill us with pleasurable emotions; but we know that ere long, this sweet singing must
be silenced by the fierce cracking of the bloody lash, falling on our own shoulders, and that the cool breezes and the gentle heat of
early morn, must be succeeded by the hot winds and fiery rays of Slavery’s meridian day. The slave has no certainty of the enjoyment
of any privilege whatever! All his fancied blessings, without a moment’s warning being granted to him, may be swept forever from his
trembling grasp. Who will then say that “disguise itself” as Slavery will, it is not “a bitter cup,” the mixture whereof is gall and
wormwood?

My brother and myself, were in the practice of carrying grain to mill, a few times a year, which was the means of furnishing us

with some information respecting other slaves. We often went twenty miles, to a mill owned by a Col. Ambler, in Yansinville county,
and used to improve our opportunities for gaining information. Especially desirous were we, of learning the condition of slaves around
us, for we knew not how long we should remain in as favorable hands as we were then. On one occasion, while waiting for our grain,
we entered a house in the neighborhood, and while resting ourselves there, we saw a number of forlorn-looking beings pass the door,
and as they passed, we noticed that they turned and gazed earnestly upon us. Afterwards, about fifty performed the same act, which
excited our minds somewhat, as we overheard some of them say, “Look there, and see those two colored men with shoes, vests and
hats on,” and we determined to obtain an interview with them. Accordingly, after receiving some bread and meat from our hosts, we
followed these abject beings to their quarters;—and such a sight we had never witnessed before, as we had always lived on our
master’s plantation, and this was about the first of our journeys to the mill. They were dressed with shirts made of coarse bagging, such
as coffee-sacks are made from, and some kind of light substance for pantaloons, and no other clothing whatever. They had on no
shoes, hats, vests, or coats, and when my brother asked them why they spoke of our being dressed with those articles of clothing, they
said they had “never seen negroes dressed in that way before.” They looked very hungry, and we divided our bread and meat among
them, which furnished them only a mouthful each. They never had any meat, they said, given them by their masters. My brother put
various questions to them, such as, “if they had wives?” “did they go to church?” “had they any sisters?” &c. The one who gave us the
information, said they had wives, but were obliged to marry on their own plantation. Master would not allow them to go away from
home to marry, consequently he said they were all related to each other, and master made them marry, whether related or not. My
brother asked this man to show him his sisters; he said he could not tell them from the rest, they were all his sisters; and here let me
state, what is well known by many people, that no such thing as real marriage is allowed to exist among the slaves. Talk of marriage
under such a system! Why, the owner of a Turkish harem, or the keeper of a house of ill-fame, might as well allow the inmates of their
establishments to marry as for a Southern slaveholder to do the same. Marriage, as is well known, is the voluntary and perfect union of
one man with one woman, without depending upon the will of a third party. This never can take place under slavery, for the moment a

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slave is allowed to form such a connection as he chooses, the spell of slavery is dissolved. The slave’s wife is his, only at the will of her
master, who may violate her chastity with impunity. It is my candid opinion that one of the strongest motives which operate upon the
slaveholders, and induce them to retain their iron grasp upon the unfortunate slave, is because it gives them such unlimited control in this
respect over the female slaves. The greater part of slaveholders are licentious men, and the most respectable and the kindest of
masters, keep some of their slaves as mistresses. It is for their pecuniary interest to do so in several respects. Their progeny is so many
dollars and cents in their pockets, instead of being a bill of expense to them, as would be the case if their slaves were free; and mulatto
slaves command a higher price than dark colored ones; but it is too horrid a subject to describe. Suffice it to say, that no slave has the
least certainty of being able to retain his wife or her husband a single hour; so that the slave is placed under strong inducements not to
form a union of love, for he knows not how soon the chords wound around his heart would be snapped asunder, by the hand of the
brutal slave-dealer. Northern people sustain slavery, knowing that it is a system of perfect licentiousness, and yet go to church and
boast of their purity and holiness!

On this plantation, the slaves were never allowed to attend church, but managed their religious affairs in their own way. An old

slave, whom they called Uncle John, decided upon their piety, and would baptize them during the silent watches of the night, while their
master was “taking his rest in sleep.” Thus is the slave under the necessity of even “saving his soul” in the hours when the eye of his
master, who usurps the place of God over him, is turned from him. Think of it, ye who contend for the necessity of these rites, to
constitute a man a Christian! By night must the poor slave steal away from his bed of straw, and leaving his miserable hovel, must drag
his weary limbs to some adjacent stream of water, where a fellow slave, as ignorant as himself, proceeds to administer the ordinance of
baptism; and as he plunges his comrades into the water, in imitation of the Baptist of old, how he trembles, lest the footsteps of his
master should be heard, advancing to their Bethesda,—knowing that if such should be the case, the severe punishment that awaits
them all. Baptists, are ye striking hands with Southern churches, which thus exclude so many slaves from the “waters of salvation?”

But we were obliged to cut short our conversation with these slaves, by beholding the approach of the overseer, who was

directing his steps towards us, like a bear seeking its prey. We had only time to ask this man, “if they were often whipped?” to which
he replied, “that not a day passed over their heads, without some of their number being brutally punished; and,” said he, “we shall have
to suffer for this talk with you.” He then told us, that many of them had been severely whipped that very morning, for having been
baptized the night before. After we left them, we looked back, and heard the screams of these poor creatures, suffering under the
blows of the hard-hearted overseer, for the crime of talking with us;—which screams sounded in our ears for some time. We felt
thankful that we were exempted from such terrible treatment; but still, we knew not how soon we should be subject to the same cruel
fate. By this time we had returned to the mill, where we met a young man, (a relation of the owner of this plantation,) who for some
time appeared to be eyeing us quite attentively. At length he asked me if I had “ever been whipped,” and when I told him I had not, he
replied, “Well, you will neither of you ever be of any value, then;” so true is it that whipping is considered a necessary part of slavery.
Without this practice, it could not stand a single day. He expressed a good deal of surprise that we were allowed to wear hats and
shoes,—supposing that a slave had no business to wear such clothing as his master wore. We had brought our fishing-lines with us,
and requested the privilege to fish in his stream, which he roughly denied us, saying, “we do not allow niggers to fish.” Nothing
daunted, however, by this rebuff, my brother went to another place, and was quite successful in his undertaking, obtaining a plentiful
supply of the finny tribe; but as soon as this youngster perceived his good luck, he ordered him to throw them back into the stream,
which he was obliged to do, and we returned home without them.

We finally abandoned visiting this mill, and carried our grain to another, a Mr. Bullock’s, only ten miles distant from our

plantation. This man was very kind to us, took us into his house and put us to bed, took charge of our horses, and carried the grain
himself into the mill, and in the morning furnished us with a good breakfast. I asked my brother why this man treated us so differently
from our old miller. “Oh,” said he, “this man is not a slaveholder!” Ah, that explained the difference; for there is nothing in the southern
character averse to gentleness. On the contrary, if it were not for slavery’s withering touch, the Southerners would be the kindest
people in the land. Slavery possesses the power attributed to one of old, of changing the nature of all who drink of its vicious cup.

“—— —— —— Which, as they taste,
Soon as the potion works, their human countenance,
The express resemblance of the gods, is changed
Into some brutish form of wolf, or bear,
Or ounce, or tiger, hog, or bearded goat;
And they, so perfect is their misery,
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
But boast themselves more comely than before.”

Under the influence of slavery’s polluting power, the most gentle women become the fiercest viragos, and the most benevolent

men are changed into inhuman monsters. It is true of the northern man who goes South also.

“Whoever tastes, loses his upright shape,
And downward falls, into a grovelling swine.”

This non-slaveholder also allowed us to catch as many fish as we pleased, and even furnished us with fishing implements. While at

this mill, we became acquainted with a colored man from another part of the country; and as our desire was strong to learn how our
brethren fared in other places, we questioned him respecting his treatment. He complained much of his hard fate,—said he had a wife
and one child, and begged for some of our fish to carry to his wife; which my brother gladly gave him. He said he was expecting to
have some money in a few days, which would be “the first he ever had in his life!” He had sent a thousand hickory-nuts to market,
for which he afterwards informed us he had received thirty-six cents, which he gave to his wife, to furnish her with some little article of
comfort. This was the sum total of all the money he had ever been the possessor of! Ye northern pro-slavery men, do you regard this
as robbery, or not? The whole of this man’s earnings had been robbed from him during his entire life, except simply his coarse food
and miserable clothing, the whole expense of which, for a plantation slave, does not exceed twenty dollars a year. This is one reason

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why I think every slaveholder will go to hell; for my Bible teaches me that no thief shall enter heaven; and I know every slaveholder is
a thief; and I rather think you would all be of my opinion if you had ever been a slave. But now, assisting these thieves, and being made
rich by them, you say they are not robbers; just as wicked men generally shield their abettors.

On our return from this place, we met a colored man and woman, who were very cross to each other. We inquired as to the

cause of their trouble, and the man told us, that “women had such tongues!” that some of them had stolen a sheep, and this woman,
after eating of it, went and told their master, and they all had to receive a severe whipping. And here follows a specimen of
slaveholding morality, which will show you how much many of the masters care for their slaves’ stealing. This man enjoined upon his
slaves never to steal from him again, but to steal from his neighbors, and he would keep them from punishment, if they would furnish
him with a portion of the meat! And why not? For is it any worse for the slaveholders to steal from one another, than it is to steal from
their helpless slaves? Not long after, these slaves availed themselves of their master’s assistance, and stole an animal from a
neighboring plantation, and according to agreement, furnished their master with his share. Soon the owner of the missing animal came
rushing into the man’s house, who had just eaten of the stolen food, and, in a very excited manner, demanded reparation from him, for
the beast stolen, as he said, by this man’s slaves. The villain, hardly able to stand after eating so bountifully of his neighbor’s pork,
exclaimed loudly, “my servants know no more about your hogs than I do!” which was strictly true; and the loser of the swine went
away satisfied. This man told his slaves that it was a sin to steal from him, but none to steal from his neighbors! My brother told the
slave we were conversing with, that it was as much of a sin in God’s sight, for him to steal from one, as from the other. “Oh,” said the
slave, “master says negroes have nothing to do with God!” He further informed us that his master and mistress lived very unhappily
together, on account of the maid who waited upon them. She had no husband, but had several yellow children. After we left them, they
went to a fodder-stack, and took out a jug, and drank of its contents. My brother’s curiosity was excited to learn the nature of their
drink; and watching his opportunity, unobserved by them, he slipped up to the stack, and ascertained that the jug was nearly full of
Irish whiskey. He carried it home with him, and the next time we visited the mill, he returned the jug to its former place, filled with
molasses, purchased with his own money, instead of the fiery drink which it formerly contained. Some time after this, the master of this
man discovered a great falling off in the supply of stolen meat furnished him by the slaves, and questioned this man in reference to the
cause of such a lamentable diminution in the supply of hog-meat in particular. The slave told him the story of the jug, and that he had
ceased drinking, which was sad news for the pork-loving gentleman.

I will now return to my master’s affairs. My young master’s brother was a very benevolent man, and soon became convinced that

it was wrong to hold men in bondage; which belief he carried into practice by emancipating forty slaves at one time, and paying the
expenses of their transportation to a free state. But old master, although naturally more kind-hearted than his neighbors, could not
always remain as impervious to the assaults of the pro-slavery demon; and as stated previously, that all who drank of this hateful cup
were transformed into some vile animal, so he became a perfect brute in his treatment of his slaves. I cannot account for this change,
only on the supposition, that experience had convinced him that kind treatment was not as well adapted to the production of crops, as
a severer kind of discipline. Under the elating influence of freedom’s inspiring sound, men will labor much harder, than when forced to
perform unpleasant tasks, the accomplishment of which will be of no value to themselves; but while the slave is held as such, it is
difficult for him to feel as he would feel, if he was a free man, however light may be his tasks, and however kind may be his master.
The lash is still held above his head, and may fall upon him, even if its blows are for a long time withheld. This the slave realizes; and
hence no kind treatment can destroy the depressing influence of a consciousness of his being a slave,—no matter how lightly the yoke
of slavery may rest upon his shoulders. He knows the yoke is there; and that at any time its weight may be made heavier, and his form
almost sink under its weary burden; but give him his liberty, and new life enters into him immediately. The iron yoke falls from his
chafed shoulders; the collar, even if it was a silken one, is removed from his enslaved person; and the chains, although made of gold,
fall from his bound limbs, and he walks forth with an elastic step, to enjoy the realities of his new existence. Now he is ready to
perform irksome tasks; for the avails of his labor will be of value to himself, and with them he can administer comfort to those near and
dear to him, and to the world at large, as well as provide for his own intellectual welfare; whereas before, however kind his treatment,
all his earnings more than his expenses went to enrich his master. It is on this account, probably, that those who have undertaken to
carry out some principles of humanity in their treatment of their slaves, have been generally frowned upon by their neighbors; and they
have been forced either to emancipate their slaves, or to return to the cruel practices of those around them. My young master preferred
the former alternative; my old master adopted the latter. We now began to taste a little of the horrors of slavery; so that many of the
slaves ran away, which had not been the case before. My master employed an overseer also, about this time, which he always refused
to do previously, preferring to take charge of us himself; but the clamor of the neighbors was so great at his mild treatment of his
slaves, that he at length yielded to the popular will around him, and went “with the multitude to do evil,” and hired an overseer. This
was an end of our favorable treatment; and there is no telling what would have been the result of this new method among slaves so
unused to the whip as we were, if in the midst of this experiment, old master had not been called upon to pay “the debt of nature,” and
to “go the way of all the earth.” As he was about to expire, he sent for me and my brother, to come to his bedside. We ran with
beating hearts, and highly elated feelings, not doubting that he was about to confer upon us the boon of freedom, as we expected to be
set free when he died; but imagine my deep disappointment, when the old man called me to his side and said to me, “Henry, you will
make a good plough-boy, or a good gardener; now you must be an honest boy, and never tell an untruth. I have given you to my son
William, and you must obey him.” Thus did this old gentleman deceive us by his former kind treatment, and raise expectations in our
youthful minds, which were thus doomed to be fatally overthrown. Poor man! he has gone to a higher tribunal than man’s, and
doubtless ere this, earnestly laments that he did not give us all our liberty at this favorable moment; but sad as was our disappointment,
we were constrained to submit to it, as we best were able. One old negro openly expressed his wish that master would die, because
he had not released him from his bondage.

If there is any one thing which operates as an impetus to the slave in his toilsome labors and buoys him up, under all the hardships

of his severe lot, it is this hope of future freedom, which lights up his soul and cheers his desolate heart in the midst of all the fearful
agonies of the varied scenes of his slave life, as the soul of the tempest-tossed mariner is stayed from complete despair, by the faint
glimmering of the far-distant light which the kindness of man has placed in a lighthouse, so as to be perceived by him at a long distance.
Old ocean’s tempestuous waves beat and roar against his frail bark, and the briny deep seems ready to enclose him in its wide open

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mouth, but “ever and anon” he perceives the glimmering of this feeble light in the distance, which keeps alive the spark of hope in his
bosom, which kind heaven has placed within every man’s breast. So with the slave. Freedom’s fires are dimly burning in the far distant
future, and ever and anon a fresh flame appears to arise in the direction of this sacred altar, until at times it seems to approach so near,
that he can feel its melting power dissolving his chains, and causing him to emerge from his darkened prison, into the full light of
freedom’s glorious liberty. O the fond anticipations of the slave in this respect! I cannot correctly describe them to you, but I can
recollect the thrills of exulting joy which the name of freedom caused to flow through my soul.

Freedom, the dear and joyful sound,

’Tis music in the sad slave’s ear.

How often this hope is destined to fade away, as the early dew before the rising sun! Not unseldom, does the slave labor

intensely to obtain the means to purchase his freedom, and after having paid the required sum, is still held a slave, while the master
retains the money! This very often transpires under the slave system. A good many slaves have in this way paid for themselves several
times, and not received their freedom then! And masters often hold out this inducement to their slaves, to labor more than they
otherwise would, when they have no intention of fulfilling their promise. O the ineffable meanness of the slave system! Instead of our
being set free, a far different fate awaited us; and here you behold, reader, the closing scene of the kindest treatment which a man can
bestow upon his slaves.

It mattered not how benign might have been our master’s conduct to us, it was to be succeeded by a harrowing scene, the

inevitable consequence of our being left slaves. We must now be separated and divided into different lots, as we were inherited by the
four sons of my master. It is no easy matter to amicably divide even the old furniture and worn-out implements of husbandry, and
sometimes the very clothing of a deceased person, and oftentimes a scene of shame ensues at the opening of the will of a departed
parent, which is enough to cause humanity to blush at the meanness of man. What then must be the sufferings of those persons, who
are to be the objects of this division and strife? See the heirs of a departed slaveholder, disputing as to the rightful possession of human
beings, many of them their old nurses, and their playmates in their younger days! The scene which took place at the division of my
master’s human property, baffles all description. I was then only thirteen years of age, but it is as fresh in my mind as if but yesterday’s
sun had shone upon the dreadful exhibition. My mother was separated from her youngest child, and not until she had begged and
pleaded most piteously for its restoration to her, was it again placed in her hands. Turning her eyes fondly upon me, who was now to
be carried from her presence, she said, “You now see, my son, the fulfilment of what I told you a great while ago, when I used to take
you on my knee, and show you the leaves blown from the trees by the fearful winds.” Yes, I now saw that one after another were the
slave mother’s children torn from her embrace, and John was given to one brother, Sarah to another, and Jane to a third, while Samuel
fell into the hands of the fourth. It is a difficult matter to satisfactorily...